


No Confidence

by zinke



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-30
Updated: 2008-10-30
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: “You kept your promise, Laura. No one has the right to hold you accountable for anything beyond that.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to survivalinstinct.net on October 30, 2009.
> 
> This is the part where I usually explain where the idea for my story came from or why felt compelled to explore a particular character’s psyche. But this story happens to be about the incomparable Laura Roslin and her personal journey in the first half of season 4, and I think that alone says enough about the ‘why’ and ‘where’ in this case. *g* 
> 
> This story contains spoilers through the season 4 episode Revelations.
> 
> Thanks as always to caz963 and nnaylime for the encouragement and advice.

* * * *

“Because it’s not enough to just live; you have to have something to live for. Let it be Earth.” 

“They’ll never forgive you.”

* * * *

Laura sits alone a short distance from the water’s edge, a golden nimbus of light cast by the campfire at her feet her only shelter from the blackness of the night. There’s a steady, bitter breeze, and she draws her knees more tightly into herself to help ward off the chill. A lock of hair falls loose from where it had been carefully tucked behind her ear, and impatiently she reaches up to sweep the errant strands back into place, all the while continuing to read from the battered book in her lap.

And the blaze pursued them, and the people of Kobol had a choice.

The air around her becomes colder still and the wind seems to strengthen, stirring the sand at her feet and bending the flickering tendrils of flame towards her, but her rhythm does not falter; Laura’s fingers continue to track the progression of letters across the vellum as she soundlessly mouths the familiar words.

To board the great ship, or take the high road through the rocky ridge.

The wind gusts again, causing the wood feeding the blaze to pop and crackle loudly as the guttering flames draw from it more deeply in their struggle to stay alight. The disturbance, louder for the apparent emptiness of this place, finally draws Laura’s attention away from her study just as the logs collapse, exhausted, into the sand, sending a shower of red-hot sparks high into the air. Captivated, Laura watches as the fiery pinpricks swirl and dance around her, before being carried away by the unforgiving wind. 

The book is already smoldering by the time she notices the stray ember that’s come to rest at the edge of the inside cover. The lonely cinder sparks to life and impassively Laura watches it burn, thriving on the very words from which she too had once drawn her strength. 

Strangely, she feels no pain – feels nothing at all – when the flames eventually reach out and begin to lick at her fingertips. Straightening, she closes her eyes and begins to recite the scriptures from memory as the blaze continues to spread.

All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again.

Through the heated roar of the conflagration that is slowly, determinedly consuming her, Laura hears with a preternatural clarity the faint metallic clank of a hatch door opening. Sluggishly she opens her eyes and turns her head in an attempt to locate the source of the incongruous sound—

—and without warning the familiar surroundings of Bill’s quarters slide into place.

Even as the last vestiges of her vision fade, the acrid stench of burnt hair lingers, and Laura absently fingers the unblemished strands of her wig as she looks around the dimly lit room, reacquainting herself with the reality of her surroundings. As her eyes sweep the space she catches sight of Bill standing just inside the hatch, watching her with a mixture of concern and poorly concealed agitation.

“What’s this I’m hearing about a vote of no confidence?” 

Laura sighs but says nothing, merely closes her eyes and drops her head to rest against the back of the couch. The action is clearly all the confirmation Bill needs, and Laura flinches slightly at the sharp, accusatory edge to his voice. “You’re just going to sit back and let this happen?”

“No,” she replies pointedly. “But they’re angry, Bill. And they need someone to blame.” Rolling her head to the side, she slowly opens her eyes to meet his. “You can’t honestly tell me that you’re surprised.”

Laura watches as Bill’s gaze slides away to fix on some point in the middle distance, and she tries not to feel guilty for challenging him. The role is a familiar one, but the situation is not and she finds herself wishing that just this once she did not have to be the one with both feet planted firmly on the ground. 

“If you remember, I’m the one who started all this crap about Earth in the first place.”

“Maybe,” she concedes. “But I’m the one who gave it life, made it real.” 

She listens to the muffled sound of his footfalls upon the carpet as he makes his way across the room to sit beside her. “You kept your promise, Laura; you brought the fleet safely to Earth. No one has the right to hold you accountable for anything beyond that.” 

“What do you do when everything you’ve been living and hoping for turns out to be a lie?” It’s not until she feels Bill shift closer, his thigh coming to press against hers, that Laura realizes she’s spoken aloud. But rather than provide the comfort he’s intending, his proximity – his scent, his touch, his warmth – only serves to irritate her. “This is about so much more than pointing fingers Bill,” she retorts sharply, “And you know it.” 

He is still for several moments, long enough for her to wonder if maybe she’s finally gotten through to him. But then he turns and takes her hand in his, and though he refuses to meet her eyes the feather-light patterns he is tracing on the back of her hand tell Laura everything she needs to know. 

“We’ve still got a couple of days until the planetary survey is complete,” he states resolutely, and though his response is exactly what she’d expected, Laura is caught off guard by how relieved she is to hear it. “Initial scans of the southwest quadrant look promising.”

The truth of it is that the moment she set foot on the war-ravaged planet below, she’d already accepted what he will not: that Earth isn’t through exacting its pound of flesh from her just yet. But in this moment, body and mind exhausted from the day’s events and her skin tingling from Bill’s gently insistent touch, she forces herself to give in and allow his stalwart optimism to chase away the bitter reality waiting just outside the hatch. 

Giving Bill’s hand a gentle squeeze, Laura offers him a brittle smile and tucks herself against his side. “We’ll see.” 

He wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer still before breathing out a weary, lingering sigh. The warm weight of him around and against her is grounding, the rhythmic brush of his fingertips along her arm soothing, and she feels herself beginning to drift into sleep when he speaks again, his voice soft and low. “This isn’t the end.” 

Without warning, her eyes fill with tears, and furiously she tries to blink them away, not wanting him to realize just how thoroughly recent events have broken down her defenses. The last thing he needs right now is additional fuel for the ruthless self-recrimination to which he’s been subjecting himself these past few days. She also knows that if she tries to argue the point, he’ll just dig his heels in further; and though she’s loath to admit it, there’s a part of her that wants what he’s said to be true – wants there to be a future here – for herself, for Bill, for the people, this planet – that won’t end in grief.

Questions about what could have been – perhaps could still be if they only dare to hope – fill her mind and choosing one at random she gives voice to it. “Did you ever think about it? What Earth would be like?”

She feels his body stiffen imperceptibly against hers, can practically hear him struggling to carefully and deliberately formulate a response. “I tried not to; didn’t want to get ahead of myself.” 

Rather than deter her, the disquiet she hears in his voice only serves to make her more curious, more determined to draw the information out of him. Pulling herself out of his embrace she turns to face him, cups his cheek in her hand and brushes the pad of her thumb across his lower lip before insisting softly, “Tell me.”

Unfathomable blue eyes stare into hers for several long moments before he reaches up to gently take her hand from his face. Almost immediately Laura worries that she’s pushed him too far; this intimacy between them still feels so new, and she’d be the first to admit that she is woefully out of practice. But her uncertainty is put to rest when he laces his fingers through hers, and with a sigh of relief she leans back to once again rest against his chest. 

“I’d never expected to find people here; if the Thirteenth tribe had ever settled on Earth, I’d always assumed they’d have been long gone by the time we arrived.”

“Why?” 

“I guess I found the notion of having the planet to ourselves appealing – a chance for a fresh start.” 

“Hmm… That sounds nice. What else?”

He eases back further against the cushions and pulls her more fully against him as he continues, gradually warming to the subject. “It’d have been green, alive – like the forests near Delphi. There’d have been wide open plains like those on Aerelon, and mountains like the Bennu range on Scorpia.”

“Reminders of home,” she interjects, inclining her head to offer him a sympathetic smile.

Bill nods slowly, his expression melancholy. “So we’d never forget the reasons why we came to Earth, or what we were forced to leave behind.” 

Without warning, Laura feels the return of that familiar weariness, borne from unsought responsibility and unimaginable choices. Deliberately she pushes the feeling aside, choosing instead to savor the comfortable illusion of safety his words have created. “And for yourself?” 

“Retire,” he replies with a certainty she wasn’t expecting but nonetheless finds reassuring. “Settle. Build a home near the water where I could sail, read, live out the rest of my years in peace.”

“A cabin, perhaps?” Though her tone is light and her voice teasing, Laura feels an inexplicable nervousness as she waits for his answer, her thoughts colored by bittersweet memories of that sun-filled day what feels like a lifetime ago.

“I’ve always preferred the ocean myself,” he pauses to brush his lips against her temple before adding with solemnity, “but I suppose I could be convinced to make do with a lake.”

Something within her is set free by his words, and Laura is left with a feeling of completeness that until this moment she hadn’t been aware she’d been missing. Closing her eyes, she hums contentedly and allows the feather-light patterns Bill’s fingers are tracing along her back and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear lull her to sleep. 

The next thing of which she is aware is heat hanging heavy in the air and prickling against her skin. She can feel beads of sweat trickling down the valley between her breasts and dampening the hair at the nape of her neck. Against her closed lids she can see fire – lurid reds and oranges and abruptly the memories return – the darkness, the flames – sending a jolt of fear tumbling down her spine.

Instinctually her eyes snap open, searching for the source of the danger, but it is too bright – blinding – and Laura blinks frantically in time to the pounding of her heart in an effort to clear her vision. Slowly, colors begin to bleed through the white and her surroundings come into focus; above her a rich green canopy of leaves is rustling softly in the breeze, vibrant against the clear cobalt sky. A short distance away, the grass on which she now sits gives way to the golden sandy shore of a vast lake whose crystalline waters lap whisper-soft against the pylons of a nearby dock. 

The fire and surrounding darkness are gone. Glancing down, Laura studies the porcelain skin of her hands, turns them this way and that but can find no burns, the only blemish a dusky smudge of soot on the back of her hand which she considers for a moment before deliberately wiping it away with the pad of her thumb. 

The serenity of this place is contagious; her muscles relax as her heartbeat returns to normal and she breathes deeply, wanting to take in as much of it as possible. In the distance she can hear the soft peal of a bell and looking up, Laura catches sight of a neat little sailboat cutting across the glassy surface of the lake, urged on by a lone, familiar figure. The sun slips lower in the sky and she raises a hand to shield her eyes as she continues to watch the vessel’s progress towards the distant peaks on the far side of the water, where a thick layer of dark and ominous clouds hangs just above the snow-white caps. 

“An uncertain course,” she remarks with a small degree of consternation. 

“Maybe,” Bill’s voice rumbles close to her ear, drawing her gaze from the steady path of the boat to where he is sitting calmly beside her, dressed as she’s never seen him in a collared shirt and khaki pants, his eyes shining as he watches the endless rippling of the water, “Maps and charts can only take you so far. Sooner or later you have to make your own way.”

Laura returns her attention to the idyllic scene before her, considering his words for several moments before asking hesitantly, “And if there’s no clear way to be made?”

Seconds pass in silence as she waits for Bill to respond. Eventually her patience wears thin and Laura turns back to him only to find that he’s vanished, and once again she is alone. Strangely, she isn’t bothered by the realization – if anything, she feels a sense of peace as she sits and watches the sailboat and its captain melt effortlessly into the horizon. 

 

*fin.*


End file.
